


Stolen Paradise

by HoddieMaine



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Minor Violence, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, some depictions of death, this story is all over the place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4235493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoddieMaine/pseuds/HoddieMaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After taking the Citadel, Capable tries to find ways to cope with everything that has happened to her. She tries to stay connected to Nux through the War Boys, and realizes that it takes a thousand voices to tell a single story.</p><p>And everyone has a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain Is Not The Only Thing That Will Catch Up To You One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings are hard, especially new beginnings.

“That’s what you call a satellite."

"Miss Giddy told us about those, they used to bounce messages across the earth."

"Shows. Everyone in the world had a show.” 

The shows were like stories, The Keeper of the Seeds had said.

“What were the stories about,” Cheedo all but whispered as she watched the blinking light disappear over the horizon.

“Everything. Nothing.” The Keeper adjusted the worn leather bag behind her head. “Usedta be you could watch people’s lives unfold. Strangers, monsters, heroes.”

Miss Giddy had told them stories when they were young. Capable remembered her animatedly recounting tales of her adventures as a child, back before the world had burned completely. Stories of scandals and lazy summer days. When she was old enough to read, Capable escaped their vault in the soft faded pages of the books Angharad had amassed.

Back then, everyone had a show. 

Back then, everyone must have had a story. 

 

**********

 

Capable did not have time to mourn. Nor did she have time to celebrate. The Citadel was a living, breathing, organism, constantly locked in contradiction with itself. Hundreds of dying boys were given the opportunity to live. The Wretched might finally know something other than devastation. Wives were now widows. Immortal gods could die.

Those left behind by the war party had accepted Furiosa and the wives-that-were-no-longer-wives as their new leaders immediately. She couldn’t say it was easy. Easy was not traversing the vast Wasteland, a cascade of spears and bullets at your back. Easy was not watching those you loved die. 

The War Pups saw the women as fierce and mighty goddesses. How else could they have slain The Immortan? 

Nearly three days after their return, they had wandered the labyrinth of walkways and stairs that made up the home they hardly knew. Barely down their first unexplored corridor, they were mobbed by young boys in white clay. The women had closed ranks. As male bodies pressed in, finger-locked hands held high above bowed heads, Capable could feel the air leave her lungs. She held on to Dag, the lithe blonde stock still and rigid but eyes aflame and venom on the tip of her tongue. Cheedo was somewhere behind them, crouched close to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around the Dag’s legs. Toast had her arms flung wide, shielding the others as best she could, a string of curses and only partially empty threats tumbling out of her slightly quivering mouth.

Capable's skin crawled with the memories of Joe "worshipping" her flesh.

They did not want to be worshipped. 

A hush fell over the boys. Living statues radiating from their huddled group. Capable reached out and laid her hand feather soft on Toast's arm. She moved from behind her friend and kneeled down in front of the closest Pup. He couldn't have been more than three thousand days old. Black grease sullied the pristine white of his hands. He was training to be a black thumb. Capable’s chest tightened, but she smiled gently at the boy.

“We are not your saviors. We do not want to be queens or gods.” 

Capable stood and looked at the faces around her. They used to joke that all War Boys looked the same, but none of the eyes looking back at her were blue enough. She did not see scarred lips that made her forget she hated for hers to be touched. 

“We just want to live freely.”

It took several minutes for the boys to meander off, more confused than when they had been told that The Immortan was dead. The four women quickly retreated to Furiosa’s room. The room with the sunken floor and the desks and books, the room they had been prisoners in for the bulk of their lives, would never hold them again. 

“I don’t want to idle,” Capable blurted out as soon as the former Imperator was in sight.

Furiosa looked up from the maps and books in front of her, her pale face shining with beads of sweat. Not even the Vuvalini could keep her in bed, forced to stay near their friend to keep a watchful eye as she healed. 

“There is plenty to be done. What would you like to do?” 

The redhead had the attention of every woman in the room. Rarely was Capable unsure of what to say. She was still learning to get comfortable with controlling even the smallest part of her destiny. 

Not long after Capable bled for the first time, Joe started to visit her. She had started much later than Angharad had, even though they were so close in age. She had stayed closed away in the separate room long after Joe had left. Every tear her body held had been cried until she was as dry as the Wasteland around her. Angharad found her curled on her side facing away from the door, cheek glued salty and sticky to her arm.

“The sun is setting and you haven’t eaten.”

Capable could not think of putting anything more into her body.

“It won’t get better,” Angharad whispered, just barely audible over the winds picking up on the other side of the glass. Capable wished she was a grain of sand, that she could be blown away across the dunes. She could feel the padding dip under her still so small frame. Her friend’s fingers brushed her unruly hair from her face. “It won’t get easier either. You can lie in here for the rest of your life, but it won’t make it more bearable. Sitting idle just makes it easier for things to catch up with you.”

Capable could feel delicate fingers combing through her hair. She didn’t want to eat, she didn’t even want to sit up. She felt sick. 

“You are strong, Capable. We are more than what they tell us. We don't exist to be used," Angharad wiggled her hands underneath Capable's ribs and shoulder, wrangling her into a sitting position, her fingers quickly moving back to the thick red curls. "Like a wrench or the mother's milk pumps. We are not things. We shouldn't be consumed and discarded when we become obsolete."

Capable scooted around to look at her sister. Angharad's bright smile flashed, a blink and it was gone. She tugged playfully at the ends of two woven locks, one on either side of Capable's freckle dusted face.

"Keep moving, keep busy. It helps, I promise."

"What do you do?" Capable barely recognized her voice, like the way Miss Giddy described the noises long extinct animals would make.

Angharad jumped up and bounced out of the room. She returned with one of the many books Capable had seen her with countless times before. Veins of color branched across the soft cover, the echo of what might have been an image bleached near white by sun and time.

"I read."

The girl called Splendid had been helping her escape from the beginning.

Capable knew she had to keep moving. Keep busy. Before she had even fully processed the question and what effects her answer might have, she felt the words tumble from her lips.

"I want to work with the War Boys."

Furiosa smirked, giving her one slow nod. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. 

“Alright. You start tomorrow.”

After the initial commotion of the Citadel calmed, Capable and her three sisters slept long and hard, the remaining Vuvalini watching over them. She had never slept so soundly. But after days of resting, and with the high octane freedom still freshly coursing through her bloodstream, Capable struggled to find sleep. She was excited to start her work with the War Boys, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. 

Nux had told her stories of the young men he had spent his whole half-life with. Stories of botched mechanical jobs and the arena style games they would play. Of brothers he had lost so young. Nux spoke with his whole body, barely keeping seated, spinning yarns of a world Capable was only vaguely aware of, the violently blue desert night sky their backdrop.

Sadness threatened to consume her, so Capable slid out from under Toast’s sleep heavy arm and silently padded out of Furiosa’s room. Despite having grown up in this very building, she could not navigate it to save her life. After several turns and hidden staircases, she found a room that was empty.

The walls on either side of her were lined with long tables, lanterns placed sporadically along each, giving the room a comforting glow. Dark bowls caked in white were haphazardly piled all around the room. At the far end of the room, a thick pipe rose from the floor splitting off into smaller pipes jutting out like branches of a tree into little spouts with wheels. Capable cautiously crossed the room and slowly turned one of the wheels. A stream of water poured from the faucet, disappearing into several holes in the stone floor. Capable quickly turned the faucet off, fear of being heard battling her guilt for wasting the precious resource.

It smelled a little like Nux in here. The faint sound of her wet feet echoed around the small room as she wandered to the large barrels in the corner. Mountains of white powder filled their wooden homes. This was where the War Boys came to put their clay on. 

Capable looked at her hand, still a little wet from the faucet. She gingerly placed her palm down into the gritty substance, the water quickly turning into a white paste. She sat down on the hard floor, her back to the barrel and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t hold back the sobs that wracked her body. Exhaustion washed over her, and engulfed in what was almost the scent of her War Boy, she finally fell asleep.


	2. Live and Die, We're The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable spends some real time with the War Boys.

There was a dull thumping in the front of Capable’s head. 

“Please don’t be dead.”

Capable jerked into consciousness, immediately regretting it as every joint in her body screamed for her to be still. As the fog of sleep dissipated, she became aware of puffs of air, warm and wet ghosting across her face and the source of the thumping in her head.

The pup from the day before was squatting in front of her, his face so close that their eyes crossed trying to look at each other. He was frozen with his finger pointed at her forehead. He looked both horrified and relieved.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Oh.” Capable had only been alone with one War Boy before and words were suddenly failing her.

“You’re too shiny to be one of us.” He gave her a curious look and then, with all of the spring in his step of a child that age, he clambered up and onto one of the long tables, crossing his legs and examining Capable.

She had been called shiny and chrome before. She wanted to tell him that they weren’t so different. She wanted to tell him that he was shiny too. She wanted to tell him all the things she wished she had been there to say to Nux when he was this small. Maybe he wouldn’t have… She shook her head and looked to the boy, unable to find the words to start. 

He must have misplaced the look of concern on her face. 

“You can be one of us if ya want! There are other girls! I’ll help you cut your hair and finish painting,” He spat out all in one breath, jumping to his feet and waving his arms in front of him wildly. “I ain’t smudged the black in a whole week. And I can mix it better than you too. That’s too thin, if you try an' tousle it’s gonna come right off.”

Capable looked to where the boy was pointing. Across the meaty part of her arm and up partially onto her shoulder, was a white hand print. She held her equally white hand up to the mark and lined it up perfectly with the mirror image. Stretching, Capable rose from the floor. She was a head taller than the boy, if not more. 

“Is the sun up?”

“Almost,” the pup gasped, a look of panic coming over his face. He grabbed the least filthy bowl from the middle of a stack, sending several clattering to the ground. He hastily picked them up and tossed them back onto the table as he raced to the back of the room. Before Capable could even ask why he was in such a hurry, the boy had filled his bowl at one of the faucets. His bare feet slipped a little on the worn stones as he ran from the pipes to the corner. Digging into the same barrel Capable had slept against, the boy scooped a handful of powder into the small pool of water in the bowl. 

His back was pink and blotchy, and suddenly Capable realized that the boy barely had any of his war paint on. His fingers swirled and mashed through the thickening mixture until it was blended smoothly. Unceremoniously, the boy scooped a handful of the paste and smeared it across his chest. A wet smack as he made contact with his skin made Capable laugh.

“What’s your name,” Capable asked her new friend.

“Crank.”

“Where did all your clay go, Crank?”

Crank sighed dramatically. “Racket bet me a sparkplug I couldn’t snitch a handful of greens from the Green Room, but I didn’t know they was gonna spray the whole room to water the plants ‘cause I ain’t never been in there before.”

Capable laughed as she watched Crank contort to attempt reaching the span of his back. She stepped up behind him and helped smooth the paint across his skin. He jumped a little, but allowed her to help him. She felt the same way towards him as she had when Cheedo first arrived all big eyes and knobby knees, an inexplicable comforting warmth and protectiveness for the young boy.

“So were you able to get the greens?”

Crank reached into his pocket and produced a small silver contraption. Straining his neck to look over his shoulder, he smiled widely at her. Capable had seen that smile before. It was breaking her heart.

“I knew a War Boy once,” She started hesitantly. “He was wild like you, and brave. Very brave.”

“What was his name?”

“His name was Nux, and he wa-”

“Nux?!” Crank practically shouted, vibrating with excitement as he whipped around to face Capable. “Nux is so diesel! Youngest pup to ever get bumped to War Boy! He and Slit took out a whole camp of Buzzards once, just the two of ‘em! Slit said only the best get to ride with them in Valhalla, so I gotta be the best!”

This hadn’t been what she was expecting. The levee was broken.

Capable looked to the ceiling in a vain attempt to keep her brimming eyes from overflowing. Her traitorous tears streaked her face anyway.

“War Boys ain’t s’posed to cry.”

Despite herself, Capable laughed. Maybe she had cracked, like so many others, just like the earth as it gave way to sand. 

“Maybe that’s true,” She chuckled as she ran her fingers across her cheeks. “You seem to know a lot of stories about Nux, but I know the greatest one of all, and maybe someday I’ll tell it to you.”

Crank’s mouth opened and shut a couple times. For the first time since the pup had woken her, he was both still and quiet.

“Crank, do you think you could show me around today? I want to see where you work.”

“And then you’ll tell me Nux’ story?!”

“We’ll see.”

Crank practically body slammed a barrel in his haste, rubbing two fingers just inside the lip of the wood. His fingers came out black and he quickly smeared the greasy substance around both eyes before wiping his hands on his equally black pants.

Crank grabbed Capable by the wrist, spinning her like the wooden top Joe had given her once as a child, and pulling her behind him, took off through the intricate tunnels of the Citadel.

It was suffocatingly hot in the Pits, even worse than the hiding spot on the War Rig had been. An undulating sea of War Boys and Pups moved with the confidence and precision only gained by a lifetime of experience. Sparks flew all around Capable as she followed Crank into the giant cavern like room. As the War Boys began to notice the new arrivals, heads began to snap up from their tasks and an uneasy hush fell over them.

Crank either didn’t notice the stares, or didn’t care. He led Capable to a heap of metal that had no right to be called a car. The chassis looked like it had been through at least three separate explosions, and the hood and doors were a patchwork of several different vehicles. Crank let go of her wrist and ran up to the wreck on wheels, leaping on top of the hood and beaming at Capable.

“This one’s mine,” he proudly explained. “Well, hopefully it’ll be mine. Been workin’ on it for months. Ace was showin’ me how to fix her up. Says I’ll be a decent black thumb and driver one day.

“Slit and some of the other lancers said they wouldn’t be caught dead in the perch,” he grumbled sullenly, “but Nux said it didn’t look any worse than their first car!”

Capable couldn’t imagine Nux or Crank in this death trap, and honestly she didn’t want to. She was walking around the car when she realized there was a fairly large group of onlookers just outside of their little space. A tall War Boy, extremely broad in the shoulders and roughly the same age as Nux had been, stepped forward. 

He was close enough for Capable to see the slightly raised scarification that covered most of his chest. It looked like a half circle with little lines of varying length placed at intervals along the sweeping outer curve with a larger and thicker line pointing from the central point to the furthest right side where an “F” was placed. Capable was intrigued by the markings, but before she could ask, the man was in her face.

“What’s a chrome thing like you doin’ here?” The War Boy licked his lips and appraised her, eyes looking from mouth to chest and back up again. It was something Joe had done to them many times.

There had been little to no resistance when she and the others had arrived and assumed their place at the top, but Furiosa had warned that there would still be those loyal to Immortan Joe. 

“I came to see The Pits.” Capable squared her shoulders and looked him dead on.

“Ain’t The Immortan you brought back. No way,” he said loudly, glancing over his shoulder for his supporters. “Ain’t no way anybody coulda killed him. He’s in Gastown and you harpies is trickin’ us. But Immortan Joe’s going to come back, you’ll see, and he’s gonna make Furiosa pay for thinkin she’s Queen.”

“Furiosa killed Joe. Everyone saw the body. She doesn’t want to be your Queen, we’re just trying to heal the world you burned!” Capable wasn’t sure when she had started shouting. The War Boy shoved her hard into the hood and grill of the car. A jagged piece of the vehicle nicked her calve, causing her to hiss in pain. She thought of Angharad.

Not all War Boys were like Nux and Crank.

He was laughing. He was closing in on her. Capable had known nothing but the struggle for survival her whole life. His beady eyes looked at her through black grease paint. Capable had survived when Joe had visited her and she thought it was impossible that she’d see another day. She had survived when bullets ripped through the night to find her and her sisters. She had survived not once, but twice when someone she loved had been taken from her.

She had survived.

He was directly in front of her.

She had survived.

He leered, reminding her of the predators of Miss Giddy’s stories.

She had survived.

She would continue to survive.

Capable pulled her leg up high enough to get her foot on the front fender of the car and launched herself at the man’s neck and shoulders. She had surprise on her side, and a ferocity she had not accessed before. 

He tried to shake her off, leaning forward, hands scrabbling at her, but this only allowed her to swing around to his back. Her arms were gripped tight around his throat.

“There is no need for this unnecessary violence,” she yelled for everyone to hear, squeezing as hard as she could on the War Boy’s throat. The more he fought, the greater his need for air became. Capable could not give him the satisfaction yet. His blunt nails, practically down to the quick, clawed uselessly at her forearms. 

His knees hit hard against the ground. 

“You are not pawns, we are not things! We shouldn’t be killing each other, the world is killing us fast enough!”

“Who do you think you are,” the War Boy just barely wheezed out, face getting ever closer to the dirt floor.

“I am Capable. The second of the Five Wives of the Meamei Era, but a wife no more. I watched Immortan Joe die out on the Fury Road while I survived! My sisters and I are kin to The Vuvalini, we are the new Keepers of the Seeds and the stories of the Many Mothers.

“ We have all known war, and yet we still choose to brawl brother against brother?! There’s a difference between running hot and harsh like the environment that bred you and living as a constant battle zone for the ever shorter days of your half-lives. It is up to each of us to choose our own course, to determine our own manifest destiny! Joe left this place rotting from the inside like a corpse, but we can change! The V8’s pistons do not work against each other. There is hope. There is redemption, and we are all part of the engine carrying us there. We can rev as one or stall out on our own.”

Capable released the War Boy and jumped away from him, her breathing almost as labored as his. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The War Boy was still on all fours trying to catch his breath and massaging his throat where Capable had held tightly. She looked out at the spectrum of shocked faces. Her muscles tensed as she prepared for the fight that was sure to come.

“Capable, Keeper of the Stories, is one of us!” Crank was standing on the hood of the car pointing at the white hand print on her arm. “We rev together!”

Crank threw his hands up into the V8 symbol that had always been used in praise of The Immortan and the furious road to Valhalla. The boy began to make a loud humming sound periodically changing the pitch and intensity. A cluster of War Pups near the front of the crowd were the first to join him, little hands held high, proud faces shining as they imitated the noise. Slowly, a few of the older boys added their voices to the mix, until every set of fingers was locked and every chest vibrated with the call.

Capable crossed her fingers in a salute she thought she would never do. A completely unknown emotion filled her. It was like fire and lightning and all consuming. This was power and hope.

This was invincibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it isn't clear, the scarification is the fuel meter display(EDIT: IT'S CALLED A GAS GAUGE HOLLY GET IT TOGETHER) for most cars.
> 
> Also, this story was originally going to only be a handful of chapters long, but apparently there's more story than I realized haha.
> 
> I PROMISE WE'LL GET THE NUX/SLIT STUFF SOON!! I'm just as anxious as everyone else.


	3. I've Got My Books And My Poetry To Protect Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable is finding her place with the help of Crank, and she may have found her way of holding on to what's important and letting go of what isn't.

Rippled rivers of hard metal made their way across the expanse of the roof of the car. Capable sat knees pulled up to her chest as she ran her fingers along the ridges. Crank was no longer visible, but she could hear him clanking and cursing under the open hood of the car. She watched all of the bodies moving around her in harmony. Surrounded by War Boys, she felt at peace.

Crank slammed the hood closed and walked around the side of the car to where a door was no longer hinged. He stepped just inside the opening and pulled himself to stand flush with the car resting his chin on the roof just within reach of Capable.

His frame was average for his age, his limbs wiry but beginning to tone from the hard labor that had been expected of him for several years already. Inspite of his demanding half-life, the last traces of baby fat still clung to his belly. She wished he could have stayed soft awhile longer.

“Spark plug was good.”

“Does it run?”

“Not yet. Still need more parts,” he sighed as he hopped down and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Capable swung her legs around to lay on her stomach and peered over the edge and into the cab. Crank was taking inventory of the various bits and bolts littering the dashboard. His brow was furrowed in concentration. It reminded her a bit of Toast. He looked up at her and made a face before laughing.

“Did you ever ride with Nux? Was he as good as they say?”

“Even better.” Crank’s eyes lit up. 

“He and Slit told us stories about all their raids. One time, they was bringin’ back cargo from real far away and there was a man just standin’ in the sand. He had tumors all over. On his chest, on his hands, even his eyes was tumors!” Crank’s eyes got as big as he could make them.

“He said, ‘My eyes is tumors ‘cause I never eat my breakfast!’” Crank’s voice got really raspy and low. “And then Nux was like, ‘Who don’t eat breakfast?’”

Capable laughed sharp and hard, unexpectedly taking her breath away. Crank’s impression of Nux was impeccable. Everything down to his mannerisms and speech patterns shifted slightly. To Crank, Nux was larger than life, and to see him through the War Pup’s eyes made Capable feel almost comforted.

“So then the man jumped on Slit and Slit was all, ‘GRARWRWR! GET OFFA ME!’” The car rocked as Crank acted out Slit wrestling with this man, a wicked smile on his face. “And then he punched him in his tumor face and told him to eat his breakfast!” Crank laughed hard, holding his stomach, his normally big grey eyes disappearing, his round cheeks becoming even rounder as his wide smile dominated his face. Capable laughed with him.

“That’s pullin’-the-fifth-wheel-pin good!” Crank laughed even harder, this time she could see that a tooth was missing all the way to the side of the ever-so-slightly crooked row of top teeth. He looked up at her, the last bouts of giggles subsiding. Capable wasn’t entirely sure the events of the story had actually taken place, and the last part sounded like a string of nonsense, but she smiled warmly at Crank.

“It’s better when Nux and Slit tell it,” he shrugged.

Capable stayed down in the Pits with Crank all day. She ate with the boys and helped when she could, more often than not just holding a light closer to the part being worked on. Some of the older boys still kept their distance, but she felt infinitely more accepted than when she had arrived.

Time didn’t seem to mean much down in The Pits. Boys came and went, some ate while they worked and a couple even dozed off, bodies draped over piles of tires and across old, threadbare seats. It wasn’t until Crank grabbed Capable’s hand, yawning, that she realized just how long they had been down there.

Capable walked with Crank and some of the other pups through twisting halls that seemed to be taking them deeper and deeper into the earth. The hallway suddenly opened up into a large room with an incredibly high ceiling. Along the wall directly across from the entryway, there were oblong holes carved out of the stone, ten across and about twenty high, each large enough for someone to climb into. Stacked against the wall to the left was barrel after barrel, all lying on their sides, open ends facing out. Long, wide strips of varying fabrics stretched from every side and corner of the room, twisting together briefly before splitting back off in separate directions. It reminded her of the drawing of a spider’s web from a book she once read.

Everywhere Capable looked, War Boys and Pups lounged. Many of the cubbies were filled, sometimes with more than one person, feet stuck out of the ends of some of the barrels. Boys lay across the more thickly woven areas of the web and in some spots a single strip would sag with the weight of a boy or two. There were even what seemed to be just a pile of boys on the floor. Despite all the body heat they must have been generating, the space was pleasantly cool.

“Ya wanna sleep here? There’s room.”

Capable smiled apologetically. 

“I can’t. I want to tell Furiosa and the others all about today, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Crank smiled and turned on his heel, running to join some of the other boys climbing into barrels.

Capable managed to retrace their previous route, albeit with several wrong turns, and made it to Furiosa’s room. 

**********

Nestled in the tangled limbs of Toast, Cheedo and Dag, Capable took measure of her day. 

The others reacted sharply to the scuffle between her and the War Boy. The Dag and Toast looked ready to tear through the Citadel to teach the brute a lesson. Cheedo gave Capable a once over to make sure she wasn’t injured too badly, and was satisfied when all she found was the small cut on her calf. Furiosa said she had handled the situation well and with bravery and that Capable could clearly handle herself. She patted the redhead on the back and smiled.

While the beginning of the day had been the most intense part, it was the hours after that Capable kept replaying in her head. Listening to the War Boys converse, the fable Crank had told her, watching them work. It was troubling to think that at one time they had thought the boys weren’t much more than brainwashed cogs in a war machine. She had pitied them and though she knew that they too were not things, she hadn’t been prepared for them to each be so unique, for them to have their own stories and idioms and things that they alone cherish.

Silent bubbles of laughter gently shook her body as she thought of Crank’s story. It reminded her of the old children’s stories, the ones with little animals racing and tricking each other. She imagined Nux surrounded by little pups telling the same story and reminding them to eat their breakfast. In the old days would they have put the story of the tumor ridden man in a book? 

In the old days everyone had a show.

Since that night under the satellite, she hadn’t been able to shake the concept of the show messages and what stories they might hold. Capable had escaped her limited world often in the pages of other’s lives, but she had never given much thought to the stories around her. 

She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to escape into her life. 

Miss Giddy had a couple of books that weren't exactly stories. They were called facts, informational studies of man and beast and earth. Miss Giddy said they were the most sacred of the books they had because it showed life exactly how it had been, not how the people before had wanted it to be. 

What facts and fables would exist of them long after they were all dead and gone? Would they know that five girls practically bred in captivity had found freedom? Would they know at what cost? Who would tell the future people that in an irremediable wasteland, they had kept hope? Would there be a record of Angharad’s and Nux’ martyrdom? When they were all no more, would her name and her sisters’ names be consigned to oblivion? Would Crank’s?

All of these people that were not things had stories that might be forgotten one day.

Capable’s chest tightened at the thought, her stomach in knots. Her friends were worth remembering. Nux was worth remembering.

She crept out of the room just as she had the night before. The well worn floors and dirty stone walls of the inner Citadel were becoming more comfortable with every passing day. She had always thought that the Citadel never slept, but it was surprisingly quiet in the secluded hallways surrounding Furiosa’s room.

The room was darker than it had been earlier, but only marginally. War Boys snored softly all around her. In a couple spots, some of the older boys chatted quietly. Capable made her way to the stacked barrels.

She peered into the openings, but in their dark centers, all of the clay covered bodies looked nearly identical. She drifted down the line taking caution not to step on the protruding limbs of the bottom most barrels, until she came face to face with one of the smallest pups she’d ever seen. His cheeks were still big and soft, his lips in perpetual pout. He was curled around the head of the older War Pup sharing the barrel with him. He blinked his sleep heavy eyes at her, his black paint smeared all over his hands and most of his face. He pointed one chubby finger up and then curled further into his bunk mate. 

Capable craned her neck, rising to her tip-toes. She couldn’t see into the barrel, but most of an arm was flopped over the edge. Capable tugged gently on the wrist dangling in front of her, when no response came, she tugged a couple more times. The arm jerked and shot back into the barrel. Groaning and grumbling and unintelligible half sentences drifted out from the hole before the bleary eyed boy behind the noises peered over the edge.

“Did you have m baddream?” Crank mumbled, not even bothering to keep his eyes open. “S’okay, Slit says tumor man’d be a fool to try ‘n show up here.” He threw in one long yawn for good measure.

Capable wondered how many young pups had sought out the older boys after their tales had stuck with them into the dead of night.

“Crank, I need your help.”

***********

It was just a door Capable told herself. 

Unmoving. Swung open, touching the wall. Nothing but metal. 

Capable stood in the large opening of the vault. She couldn’t take her eyes off the large hinges. The door threatened to come to life and throw Capable inside, locking her in forever. She could feel the moisture growing on her palms, hair prickling across her arms and the back of her neck. She tried to swallow, but it was suddenly impossible.

“What am I s’posed to be lookin’ for,” Crank called out for the third time.

“A book.”

“How’m I s’posed to find this book thing with all these other book things? Woah, what’s this?!”

“The outside is dark blue, it’s really thick.”

“Capable did you and the other Keepers really used to live in here? Hey, what’s this thing for?”

“Keepers?”

“Yeah, you ‘n the other ones. The Keepers,” he said poking his head out to give her a look as if it should have been obvious.

He had his arms full of various odds and ends, only two of which were books.

“What do you plan to do with those?”

“Gonna put ‘em in the car,” he said sheepishly, eyes pleading with her.

Joe had given them many little trinkets over the years. When they were younger they enjoyed them, appreciated them, viewed them as the gifts they were intended to be, but as they got older, they became sick reminders of their suffering and captivity. Even when he wouldn’t visit for weeks at a time, he was everywhere, woven into their lives in ways that ran much deeper than the cage they were confined to.

Crank laid his spoils on the ground. He began picking through the items, shoving as much as he could into his many pockets and tying the rest to loops and hooks around his waist. Squatting in front of her, the wear and tear of the garment was evident. Two small holes were beginning to form on the knees, little rips were scattered all over. At some point someone had mended what appeared to be several very large holes with a variety of different colored thread. 

Next to the dark blue book she had requested, lay a grey one, the wide expanse of its cover marred with deep scratches. It was not a thick book though the cover was rather large and it was light when Capable picked it up.

The pages were covered in pictures of animals and plant life, things that existed before the world burned. It was one of the first books Miss Giddy had shown her and Angharad when they were brought into the Citadel. They had never seen anything so beautiful. 

Capable smiled at Crank, handing him the book. He hugged it to his chest and sat down across from her. She sat and opened up the book they had come for.

“Did I get the wrong one? It ain’t got nothin’.”

When the girls had expressed their interest in books, Joe had his War Boys keep an eye out for the relics while out on raids. On occasion they would bring back several books, each a unique color and size, sometimes with pictures on the covers. What the War Boys didn’t understand though, was that it was the words held within each book that they longed for. 

Capable brushed her fingertips across the blank pages. She was never sure if they had succumb to time and the elements or if they had always been wordless.

“You did great, Crank.”

The boy beamed at her, before shrugging his shoulders several times and looking back down at his book.

Capable gingerly held Miss Giddy’s word maker in her hand. Miss Giddy had been full of and covered in stories. Capable had only ever seen her friend use the tool once, just days before their liberation. Among the names of so many that existed before them, Miss Giddy hid their names. She always said that it was not only important, but vital to remember those they had lost and those they had yet to lose. 

Miss Giddy had taught them to read and write, practicing letters in the sand. They had covered the walls in their own words and it was the first time Capable had felt real.

“Crank, can you tell me the tumor man story again?”

Crank crawled over to sit with her and taking a deep breath, she set ink to paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to two updates per week haha, it probably won't ever happen again.


	4. Don't You Ever Tame Your Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toast somewhat reluctantly shares a story with Capable.
> 
> *WARNING: Some depictions of canon typical violence and death. I promise it's pretty minor.*

It was strange to be surrounded by trinkets that had once belonged to her and her sisters, but to have them displayed all around Crank’s cab. Capable sat sideways in the back seat, legs stretched out in front of her, the book open across her lap. Crank was perched backwards in the driver’s seat, cheek squished into the headrest, mouth full of the bread he had brought them for lunch.

They were taking a break from working on the engine, Crank explaining every detail as Capable helped him take bits apart just to put them back together. She enjoyed the physical labor. It was new to her and proving to be a challenge, but it had a zen to it that was unexpected.

Blank pages stared up at Capable. 

Ten thousand words swirled around her head, but she wasn’t sure where to start. Every part of her wanted to write Nux’ story, but she couldn’t settle for anything less than perfection, and she knew she wasn’t there yet. Angharad’s would be just as difficult, if not more so.

She flipped to the back of the book.

Slowly, she began to scrawl out her story.

“Why’d ya stop,” Crank asked after a few minutes of Capable staring at the three words she had written.

“I didn’t think this would be so hard.”

“How’s it hard?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tumor man story wasn’t hard.”

“No, but it was your story. It was important to you and you’re important to me.”

Maybe she wasn’t ready to write her own story yet.

**********

“You’ve known me practically my whole life, Capable, you know all my stories.”

Toast was leaned over the table, scouring the maps laid out in front of her and Furiosa. They had spent the last several days assessing what backlash would be imminent for slaying a king of The Wasteland.

“You weren’t always here.”

Toast had spent more time on the outside than Capable had. She had strong memories of her life before, not just faded moments that were like trying to cling to water. It only served to make her more angry and bitter.

“Capable, I can’t, I’m busy.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Furiosa commented, her head still bowed over the maps. Toast gave her an almost nasty look, which she met with her well known smirk. Toast turned her attention back on the redhead, but a bit softer than before.

“It’s a great idea, Capable, I’m not saying it isn’t.”

“When the earth reclaims us, all that is left are our stories. It’s all we become.”  
Toast regarded her, her brow furrowed as usual. She glanced at Furiosa who gave no reaction other than returning to her work. Toast inhaled deeply, shaking her head slightly, but came to sit in front of Capable.

“How do I start?”

“As you start with any story,” Capable encouraged, flipping to the second page of the book. 

“I didn’t know I was any different. I don’t think they did either.” Toast pulled at one of her sleeves, repositioning herself on the chair. Her eyes kept flitting from Capable to the floor, to Furiosa and the middle distance.

**********

Bartering was life. If you couldn’t convince someone that your assets were valuable, you were dead. The ability to trade was the most valuable skill in your arsenal and the most highly praised by the Farmer.

Bullet Farm was harsh in a way that equaled The Citadel but was entirely its own wicked beast.

Towering structures of iron and sheet metal closed in on all sides. The already narrow street ways were crowded with vendors and merchants, each competing to have their offers heard over their competitors. Tables were littered with odds and ends, sometimes food and on the rare occasion, relics from the old world.

Drowned out by the volume of the streets, a group of children created their own chaos. 

“Jaagin’ swipe him already!”

“Come on! Break his face!”

“I got a clip on Bricker!”

In a mostly unused building near the outermost reaches of the metropolis, a crowd of children encircled two of their own fighting, cheering on their acts of violence. Bits of food, clothing, and above all, bullets, were exchanging hands as bets were made on the fray. 

The two fighters were almost identical in stature. They circled each other, occasionally lunging in to grapple, only to break apart and circle again. Neither fighter had more than a scratch on them, but the fair haired boy was starting to show fatigue. His opponent laughed before running full steam and throwing their body against him, limbs flying. The cries from the crowd crescendoed as the fight came to a bloody end.

Toast stood up, wiping the blood from her lip, it mixing with the blood already covering her hands. Smiling, she reached down and helped her friend off the ground as he struggled to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.

“Thought I had you that time.”

“You always do the same thing. You always let me tire you out.”

The group of miscreants disbanded, a couple dirty rags were tossed to the two. They wiped the blood from their faces. They each tied their blood stained rag through a loop of their baggy second hand pants, their badge of honor for the day. The sun had not been up for very long, but the heat of the day was already making it’s presence known. Several boys made their way out of the Rat Den and out into the bustling streets, heading off to find work. 

The Rats came and went as they pleased, working odd jobs, hustling when they had to, stealing when they couldn’t. Everything made and taken was shared with the others. It wasn’t perfect, but life was a lot harder out on your own.

Toast and Bricker made their way down flights of stairs to the bottom most sub-level of the structure, it was one of the only places cool enough to comfortably sleep once the sun had risen. Some of the Rats worked honest jobs during the daytime, but what Toast did was not meant for the light.

Bricker had been a Rat almost as long as Toast had. He was a brother and a business partner. They had become inseparable. They were night and day not only in their complexions, but in every aspect of their personalities. Toast was cool and calculating, silver tongued and eager to fight. Bricker laughed at everything, he was a bit too loud, and took very little seriously. Bricker was a better fighter, but Toast was a better strategist. When pitted against each other, it made for an entertaining fight, but when working together, they were an unparalleled force.

“Jaag, I’m beat.” Bricker flopped onto the large pile of rags and other assorted items deemed soft enough to sleep on. “Last time I take Rez with me on a night run. Last time I go with anyone ain’t you. Total jaagin’ bust. How’d you do?”

“Not as good as I could’ve.” Toast scratched her head, loosening some sand from her shortly cropped hair. She joined Bricker and some of the other night runners on the makeshift bed. “Tonight’ll be better.”

The night came quick and cold, startling Toast from her sleep. Boys around her were already lighting lanterns and waking up any stragglers. She climbed the stairs and stepped outside to relieve herself in the outhouses.

“‘Bout time. Rez and Pug already got our packs set out. Ready?”

Bricker tossed her a loaf of bread and took off around the side of the building, Toast following close behind.

The four donned and adjusted their packs in comfortable silence. There was no need to discuss the plan for the night, they’d done this more times than Toast could keep track of. One last check of supplies and they were ready to go. They each reached out and placed an open palm on the child across from them, their arms forming a knot in the center. For good luck and just in case, there had been nights when not everyone had returned.

Urchins for hire, the lot of them. Every job the Rats did consisted of countless others hidden just under the surface. Lookouts and snitches for The Farmer’s army, trade mules and smugglers. The only code they had was to look after those that looked after them. Not everyone was looking after them as much as they let on.

The four split into pairs, taking off in opposite directions. Toast and Bricker were instantly in sync, every step and every breath perfectly timed. They made their way through the still crowded streets, the vendors trying to make that last sell before packing up for the night.

Every corner they turned took them further into the heart of the city. The streets were much quieter here. There were no vendors clogging up alleys, or families coming home from a hard day making bullets in the mines. As they ran, they caught glimpses of The Farmer’s soldiers. They weren’t always alone in their hiding spots, little gasps coming from the Harlots keeping them company.

When they reached one of the guarded doors to the inner city, they stopped. Toast pulled from her pack a shining metal buckle. The officer took it, nodded and opened the metal door, letting the two children slip through silently.

From here they did not run. Walking at an easy pace, they ducked into shadows at any sign of passerby. Little time passed before they found the first one.

Slumped over the bottom step of a tall, spiraling staircase, was a bloated and sun baked body. Toast couldn’t be sure of their age or gender, but judging from their attire, they were fairly well off. Bricker stepped up to it first. He placed his hand in front of the mouth to check for breathing. It was both custom and rule, no matter how dead the body looked. When he felt nothing, he swept his arm up and offered his palm to the sky. Though the body would be returned to the cycle from which it came, Bricker had made sure the person’s spirit knew the path to the sky. They could join the stars.

The two set to work emptying the pockets of anything and everything. Some of the finer clothing was cut free, the shoes removed. When they had taken everything they could, they wrapped their hands in spare cloth and took the hands and feet, carrying the departed around a corner and to a large hatch door near the ground.

Toast opened the door, glowing heat radiating from it. They pushed the body through, the flames of the furnace engulfing it in moments. The two stood up, tucking their hand protectors into their pockets. They stood silently for a moment.

The elite and privileged died just like anyone else in The Wasteland. The Farmer never hesitated to shoot someone that crossed him. Out of line concubines, messengers with bad news, officers that did not follow the chain of command, Toast and Bricker had heard whispers on more than one occasion while beyond the inner walls.

When they passed a water trough, they took the chance to fill up on the significantly less stagnant and bacteria ridden water than what they had in the outskirts. A commotion suddenly erupted around the corner, light spilling out into the streets. Toast grabbed Bricker by the sleeve and yanked him into a shadowed doorway.

Laughter filled the air. Bricker and Toast opened the door and crept inside, silently making their way to the paneless window overlooking the street. From where they were crouched they could see shadows dancing through the ray of light shining from an unseen doorway. 

Several pale men, hairless as newborns, stumbled around the corner, half empty bottles clutched in their fists. Words slurred, they antagonized each other, playfully punching arms and snatching the liquor from each other.

They didn’t belong here. Toast and Bricker had seen them before on rare occasions. Some said they came from the Fury Road, made of war and clay and death. To toast they were an omen, change always followed in their wake.

She had never seen them this close before. They did not look much older than some of the oldest Rats. Laughing and fighting no more viciously than Toast and Bricker had fought earlier that day, they seemed so harmless. It was hard to believe the rumors looking at them now.

She had an opportunity.

The Rats complained that Toast was too unpredictable. She saw a chance and took it, whether or not anyone else was prepared for it. She countered with the fact that it’s what made her one of the most sought after partners, she never came home empty handed.

Climbing through the window, she came within inches of the closest one. Startled, he fell back on his rear. His comrades pulled various weapons from their pockets, poised and ready to attack. Toast was starting to have second thoughts, but the young man on the ground in front of her burst into laughter.

“Tricky.”

“Valhalla ain’t for mediocre War Boys scared to death by some little pup, Morsov.”

“Fang it, Ace,” the young man grumbled, picking himself off the ground.

The one called Ace stepped to the front of the group.

“What do you have to trade?” Toast stood as straight as possible, attempting to intimidate the men in front of her. The Ace laughed, but it didn’t seem cruel.

“We ain’t here to trade, pup.”

“Everyone comes to the Bullet Farm to trade.”

“Nah, we came to collect.”

Toast wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t sit right with her.

“What do you got to trade, pup?” 

She reached through the window, grabbing her pack. Bricker held it tight, pleading her silently to just take off running. She placed her hand over his and smiled. Reluctantly, he released his grip. Toast rummaged in the pack, looking past the fine fabrics and expensive weaponry.

“You put ‘em on your face,” she said, producing a pair of darkly shaded spectacles. “Makes it easier to see.”

The Ace regarded her. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal contraption. 

“What is it?”

Instead of answering her, he turned a small crank on the side. Toast had heard the old ones sing songs from their youths, but this was more beautiful than any of them. She was completely mesmerized. It wasn’t until the Ace jerked his hand back that she realized how close she was and that her hand was hovering just above the thing.

“What’s to keep me from taking both?”

The one she had scared crowded her, grabbing her wrist and the glasses from her hand. 

Toast punched the young man in the nose harder than she even thought possible. She heard the pop of it breaking as blood gushed from it. He let go of her just as Bricker dove through the window, tackling him to the ground. Toast used the distraction to snatch the music box from the hand of the shocked Ace, and the two children took off running.

**********

“I was the Rat King after that,” Toast smiled, her thumb brushing the smooth edges of the music box. “Bricker told everyone how I beat up a War Boy and took their treasure.”

Capable watched the smile slip from her sister’s face.

“It wasn’t long after that I bled for the first time,” Toast stood up and walked back to the map covered table, a troubled look in her eyes. “I thought I was dying so I went to the medicine man, and the same boys that called me their king said nothing as he turned me over to the Bullet Farmer’s army. 

“I was traded for Aqua-Cola. I never considered that I could be acquired the same as shoes or a bit of soft fabric. When they came to collect me, he wore my glasses and said nothing to explain how the Immortan’s new wife had the music box that they’d heard was stolen by some tough street rat that bested one of the Ace’s men.”

Capable scrawled the last of Toast's story. She joined her at the table, placing her hand on Toast's shoulder.

"If anyone’s going to attack us, they’ll be first.” She slid some sort of ledger towards Furiosa. “And we’ll be completely outgunned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES!! This chapter is one of the first parts I had in my head for this fic! I'm so glad to finally be getting into the stories, they're what sparked the idea for this fic. Originally, the first few chapters were all supposed to be one short chapter, but apparently the story had other ideas haha. Anyway, I hope everything still feels in character and that the world is staying true to the films.
> 
> And, THANK YOU FOR ALL THE NICE COMMENTS! <3


	5. Ooh, Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable learns some War Boy lore, among other things.

Crank and some of the other pups were sitting in a circle. Capable could tell from the giggles and exclamations of cheating that they were playing some sort of game. As she got closer, however, those participating were taking turns punching the pup next to them, going around the circle. One of the smaller pups cried out as his arm was struck by the boy on his left. He threw both hands in the air and then proceeded to roll out of the circle. The remaining pups closed the gap, calling out names and insinuations of his poor heritage. Rubbing his arm and making faces at the circle, he joined the onlookers.

“Don’t.”

Capable jumped. She was several cars over from any of the older War Boys. 

“Don’t stop the game. I can see it, ya don’t like it.”

A War Boy dropped from just above her head, landing in front of her, meeting her gaze with a steely intensity that unnerved Capable. Her discomfort was only amplified by the imposing physical appearance of the War Boy. A band of black paint ran across their eyes, stopping short at the temples. Two metallic studs rested below their lower lip, and each earlobe was stretched around what appeared to be polished green discs. Even from under the uniform black cargoes, thick, powerful legs threatened to crush the skulls of anyone deemed an enemy. Raised lines had been carved into the flesh of the stomach, a round gear dipping below the belts slung around wide hips. 

Capable recognized the other images as well, they were Crank’s favorite part of the engine. They reminded her of pictures that an ancient civilization had made of snakes, but Crank had shown her how the metallic shaft manipulated the pistons. Two smaller designs made mirror images on either side of a larger one that serpentined from the gear and disappeared under a dirty piece of fabric wrapped tightly around their gently curved chest.

“Oh.”

Capable had seen the female War Boys from a far, but had never been this close to one, let alone spoken to one. The War Boy was a breath shorter than Capable, but she seemed like a giant.

“Ya wear the clay, but ya don’t get it. Ya soft, but they,” she glanced over her shoulder at the pups, “had ta be born hard. Aggression must be spent. Control the pain and the anger. Use it. They gotta learn now.”

“‘Sides, it makes the little monsters sleep.”

When Capable had first arrived at The Citadel, Joe had given her and Angharad a cat. She learned later that the People Eater had saved a couple strays during the war and had managed to breed them. They never seemed to live very long and were just as disease ridden and ill bred as everything else in The Wasteland, but a luxury for the elite and powerful none the less. The War Boy approaching moved in the same languid manner, but her sly smile gave the impression that, just like the cat, she was stalking her prey.

She didn’t have her chest bound like the other, but her black pants had a front panel held up by suspenders, covering her breasts. She shared the same stripe of black as the other, but instead, it ran under her eyes, warping over the bridge of her nose. Capable noticed how smooth her clay-white skin was, lacking any of the scarification or modification that covered most of the other War Boys.

“Let ‘em wear themselves out.” She went to stand by the other. She was marginally taller, not as thick, but every bit as toned. Crossing her legs at the ankle, she rested her elbow on the other War Boys shoulder. “Bath day.”

The first War Boy threw their head back, sighing heavily.

“Ah, come on, Vex, it ain’t that bad. Yer worse than the pups.” 

The two turned and headed towards the boisterous group. It was down to two boys, throwing punch after punch, the crowd around them in hysterics as they cheered on the players. Capable followed them. The two girls screamed on just as loudly as the pups. Crank seemed to appear out of nowhere, gently elbowing her in the side before yelling his own encouragement. Capable cupped her hands around her mouth and joined the rest of the group. When one of the boys hit the other so hard Capable thought she could feel it, the match seemed to be over, but the boy took a deep breath before letting out a bellow that could be heard over the cheering and punched with a furious might. 

The onlookers lost it as he crumpled, putting one hand in the air to signal defeat. They rushed the boys, patting both on the back and congratulating them on a good game. The two boys, grinning madly, clasped their hands behind each other’s neck and placed their foreheads together. The runner up took the winner’s wrist and thrust his fist into the air. The War Pups lifted the victor onto their shoulders, the cheers subsiding into thunderous stomping.

“Alright ya mutts, get to the wash or I’mma set Vex loose on ya.”

Grumbling mixed with laughter as the boys calmed and begrudgingly made their way out of the Pits, the War Boys following after.

“I’d like to come with,” Capable informed the young women. They looked at each other, silently communicating before shrugging and nodding.

**********

The room was twice as large as the clay room, but the same pipes branched out of the ground near the back. Along the walls leading in were evenly spaced spouts with several stools and bowls sitting underneath. In the center of the room a small pool sunk into the ground. It smelled funny to Capable, burning her nose.

The War Pups shed their clothing, leaving trails across the floor. They gathered around the faucets, each claiming a bowl. They took turns filling up the bowls before turning the water back off. As if someone had given a signal, the pups dumped the water over their heads. The clay melted off smooth heads and shoulders, the water turning into milky murk.

The pups rubbed vigorously at the clay that still clung to them, revealing more and more of the flesh underneath. Pale faces smattered with freckles and moles, dark brown faces with brightly shining smiles, beautiful ruddy faces still partially streaked with white, all laughing and making a raucous. 

As the water draining into the holes in the ground finally ran clear, the boys left the stools and bowls and quickly made their way to the pool. Capable was not surprised when, just like she and her sisters had at that age, the pups splashed and flopped their way into the water.

“Dizir, show and tell!”

“Yeah, show and tell, show and tell!”

“Come on, Dizir!”

The two War Boys had been lounging in the back corner, conversing quietly, keeping the occasional eye on the pups, but as they began to chant the words ‘show and tell’, the one they called Dizir made an exasperated face before picking herself off the floor. Her companion did the same.

Dragging a stool towards the center of the floor, she sat down facing the back wall. Vex filled a bowl with water and pulled a heavy rag from her pocket. She knelt beside Dizir, soaking the rag. The War Boy freed an arm from her overalls, followed shortly by the other, revealing her back to be just as smooth as the rest of her. A hush fell over the bathing children.

“The sea monsters,” a small pup whispered.

“The Road to Valhalla,” whispered another.

“Tch!” Dizir chastised them, and again it was silent. The War Boy glanced at Capable over her shoulder. “The first War Boy.”

Vex plopped the laden rag on Dizir’s shoulder, squeezing the contents out. As the water cascaded down her back, Vex wiped little stretches of skin clean, revealing another waterfall. Capable gasped. A blue as vibrant as the sky flowed in swirling currents from the brand on her neck, down her spine, disappearing once more under the white clay. 

“Water covered the earth, but the world burned an’ the water burned up with it.”

Vex began wiping in a small spot just under Dizir’s shoulder blade. 

“The War was fought an’ many died. A single War King an’ his two comrades remained.”

Etched into skin shades darker than Toast’s, Capable could make out a small circle with lines squiggling across. Atop the circle, crude outlines of three men hovered, the one in the middle slightly larger. 

“The War King an’ his men assumed their rightful places. Arms, fuel, an’ the greatest of ‘em, water. All power, all meant life could keep on livin’. But the wolves of The Wasteland wanted the power for their own.”

In one quick swipe, Vex uncovered the rest of the shoulder blade. Images of brutal and realistic death played out right up until where arm met body. There, in hyper realistic inkwork, was the visage of Joe, death mask in place and eyes wild with blood lust. Light seemed to shine around him and from him.

“An’ so they killed The War King. A battle ridin’ soldier on the Road to Valhalla, The King didn’t accept his fate. He tricked The One That Sees, an’ rained down like fire and light, tearin’ the wolves apart.”

Vex cleaned off the very top of Dizir’s shoulder. A silhouette of a man stood tall in a circle of decapitated beasts. She rinsed the rag and took Dizir’s hand, extending her arm.

“The King, now Immortan, saw his body, picked clean by the wolves. He took the bones an’ covered ‘em in clay. Immortan Joe breathed fire into him, an’ he came to life. He told him, ‘you were made for war an’ you will fight in my name. All that come after will wear yer face an’ pick up where you left off.’”

On Dizir’s upper arm was the perfect image of a War Boy, baggy black pants, bare chest, skeletal face. If Capable hadn’t known, she would have thought it was Nux.

“The War Boy rode violent an’ victorious. Fury Road was his. War Rig was his creation. Comin’ back from a raid, he was surrounded by Buzzards. He took most of ‘em out, didn’t even have a lancer. He was out of boom sticks, an’ they was closin’ in on the Citadel. He couldn’ risk the city, an’ he sure as hell wasn’t gonna waste the Rig. So, mouth full o’ guzzoline, he jumped from the rig, settin’ himself on fire an’ spittin’ flames.”

Vex wiped Dizir’s forearm clean. A War Boy appearing to be soaring through the air, fire spewing from his mouth, was careening towards the image of a car mid explosion. 

“The Immortan sent for the Rig an’ what was left of his War Boy. He carried his burnin’ body ta Valhalla and replaced his clay with chrome. He greets us all when we reach the gates. Now, get outta that water or you’ll be seein’ the after life before you ever get a shot at glory.”

The pups groaned and dunked their heads a few last times before climbing out, their naked bodies flushed from the warm water. Dizir didn’t bother putting her clothes back on. As the boys stumbled into their pants and out into the hall, she slid the rest of the way out of her overalls and walked to one of the spouts.

Capable knew that it was more myth than anything. Joe was no more god than she was. She could tell Dizir all the ways in which she was wrong, but it seemed cruel. How do you tell someone that everything they believed was a lie?

“Furiosa killed Immortan Joe. I don’t doubt it. She’s a fierce warrior an’ he did her wrong.” Dizir looked down at the bowl she was filling. “Did us all wrong.”

“You knew he wasn’t a god.”

“When yer little, it’s what yer told. He was sky high. Easy to believe.” She poured the water over herself. “When ya gotta help an old man get dressed an’ pump air in his lungs, ya start to ask questions.”

“Why continue to tell the pups he was a god?”

As she rinsed herself, Capable realized that her entire body was covered in the black, blue and red images.

“They believe they were handpicked by a god. That Valhalla waits for ‘em an’ that they’ll be greeted by a chrome ancestor so shiny that the Immortan carried him to Valhalla himself an’ made it so every one of us could follow after.”

Dizir put down her bowl and stepped into the pool, a now rosy Vex following after. Capable got up from where she had been sitting on the floor, and turned to leave.

“Stay, Keeper,” Vex called, nodding to Capable. “All War Boys gotta wash the clay off. Start new.”

**********

She liked the way the cargoes bagged around her legs. 

She had bathed with the War Boys, the water stinging the leftover scrapes from her time on Fury Road. It dulled the ache in her bones from late nights hunched over her book and long days of heavy lifting with Crank.

They sat in amicable silence. She followed their lead when they rose from the water, gathering their belongings from the ground. They lead her down the hall to a clay room. She watched as they took turns evenly applying the war clay to their skin. Capable didn’t hesitate to replace the hand print on her arm. 

When they had finished, Capable had started to don the white wraps she had worn most of her life. Vex caught her hand and took the clothing from her. 

“Yer a War Boy now, yeah?”

Capable nodded, trying not to be taken aback. Vex gave her a pair of comfortably worn black cargoes. She wrapped the old wives cloth back around her chest and around the back of her neck. Shortly after, Crank had found her and in his frenzied excitement, loaded her down with bits and bobbles to hang off her belts and loops. She had to limit his additions to her wardrobe for fear of falling over. 

The pants felt right. The wives cloth was soft and easy to move in, she had worn it for so long and it was a part of her, but it held too much of her past. It was a mark of what Joe had wanted her to be. She wasn’t that girl anymore, not that she ever truly had been.

The Book was clutched tightly under arm, the word maker in one of the large pockets near her knee. Capable had added the lore of the first War Boy to her book, prefacing it with notes on the source. It didn’t seem quite right without the visual aid of Dizir’s tattoos, but she wanted to keep a record of it regardless.

She had gone to sit with Furiosa and Toast, but they weren’t in their room, so she had started to wander the halls. Crank and the pups that had bathed earlier had all but disappeared, and she wouldn’t work on the car without him. So, she figured she would take the opportunity to explore more of the Citadel.

The higher she climbed, the more the wind whipping through the halls drowned out any of the usual noises of place. As she came to another landing, blood curdling screams filled the air. Capable ran in the direction she thought the sounds were coming from. The echoes ringing off the stone walls were disorienting. She ran to the end of a hallway, it opened up onto a huge room with large open breaks to the outside. Intricate machines and chairs lined the walls. 

This was where the mothers were kept. The room was empty. 

Screams shattered the air once more. Capable ran through a door near the end of the room. The large room was filled with women. Capable had never seen so many women in one place. All shapes and sizes and shades of women were gathered around the source of the screaming. At the center of the crowd stood a frame of scrap metal and wood, a pile of cushions and one uncomfortably pregnant woman going into labor.

Sweat covered the soon to be mother’s red face. She threw back her head in an agonizing guttural growl, crushing Cheedo’s hand. The Vuvalini were stationed between the mother’s legs, Furiosa hovering anxiously behind them. Capable realized that a murmur was coming from the group around her.

Every woman in the room seemed to be whispering, eyes locked on those involved in the birth. Whether they were prayers or encouragement, Capable couldn’t tell. With a cry louder than a war party, the mother pushed the baby out.

The room exploded into cheers, the women gathered clasped hands. A woman she’d never met before took her hand. A tiny wail bubbled from the newborn.

“A boy!”

Hands held tight were raised to the air. Only the babies weak cries could be heard. The room waited, holding their breath.

“Seems healthy enough,” Furiosa exclaimed holding the baby, now swaddled in cloth, out to the mother.

The woman wept openly, preparing to breastfeed the infant. Those in the room took turns speaking briefly to the mother, clutching their chests then gently placing their hand on the child’s head.

Soon the room was mostly clear. The Vuvalini continued to monitor the two, Furiosa helping where she could. Capable noticed Toast for the first time watching over Cheedo’s shoulder as she wiped the sweat from the mother’s brow.

“What will you name him,” her youngest sister asked warm and sweet.

The mother stared at the child held tight to her chest as if she were just now seeing him.

“I’ve never named my children,” she rasped out.

“What’s your name?” Furiosa came to stand closer to the woman.

“Aveeya.”

“How many siblings does this child have?”

“Seven boys, four girls, three that ain’t make it that far.”

“Aveeya, you are the first of the many mothers of the Citadel to have the chance to raise a child in a long time. It starts with a name.”

“A name has power,” chimed the older Vuvalini.

“Give ‘im an identity ta build offa,” the younger added.

Aveeya began to shake her head, pulling the baby from her breast and attempting to get as far away from it as possible. Shocked, Cheedo had the infant thrust into her arms.

“Take it! Take it! I don’t want it!”

Cheedo whisked the screaming child from the room. The Vuvalini soothed the woman until she was quiet and still. Silent sobs vibrated through her. Furiosa and the Vuvalini had followed shortly after Cheedo leaving Capable and Toast alone with the mother.

“We were not all meant to be mothers.” Capable knew her words to be true, but the woman looked as if she had spoken complete nonsense. “We are not breeders, milkers, wives. We are not things. We are free and no one will force you to have another child… I had a baby. I wasn’t allowed to name her or feed her. Miss Giddy told me they sold her. I wouldn’t know her if she stood in front of me. She’d be almost two thousand days old. If she’s alive.”

No response came, but the silence was too heavy, so she continued to speak.

“I don’t know that I could raise a child. The closest I’ve ever come was with Cheedo, but we were hardly older, Angharad and I. We wished for boys at first, knowing they wouldn’t lead the lives we had and hoping that the sooner we produced an heir, the sooner the visits would stop. As we grew, we knew that any boy we birthed would be just another war lord.”

“I was brought from outside Gas Town. People Eater’s men snatched me. Think they wanted to trade me, but I was left with the Wretched. They ain’t my family, but they treated me such. I was still young, a looker, not hardly sick at all. Traded myself ‘mongst the War Boys for extra food to share with the ones that took me in,” Aveeya swallowed, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Done a lot a things to survive, lot more to be selfish. Had a husband... We had a son. Gave him to the War Boys so he could eat. When they knew I was fertile, they made me a breeder. Seems my whole life’s been babies I ain’t never known.”

“You could know this one,” Toast offered gently from the corner.

“Don’t want ‘im to know me.”

Tears streamed down the woman’s face once more.

“Aveeya, may I put your story in my book?”

“Why?”

“One day, our children may want to know where they came from.”

She blinked hard and slow, eyes focused on Capable. She nodded once and closed her eyes, rolling away from Capable.

She could have easily been this woman. Aveeya could have been a wife and it could be Capable crying on this bed. Both women’s lives centered on childbirth, worth only the lives they brought into this world. 

She set to writing, Aveeya drifting to sleep beside her. 

A sudden commotion exploded in the milking room. Over the exclamations of the women, Capable thought she heard Crank’s voice.

As she came around the corner, Toast hot on her heels, she just barely caught sight of the Vuvalini, Furiosa and Crank running out into the hallway.

“Crank,” she called, sprinting to catch up. He skidded to a stop, whipping around to see her. He looked panicked. “What’s going on?”

“Some of the War Party made it back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha, what a rude place to stop. 
> 
> Also, what a long chapter! Damn. No wonder I overshot my usual post day by like three days.


	6. Those Wild-Eyed Boys That Had Been Away Haven't Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the War Party have returned and among them an unlikely War Boy Capable was not prepared to see.

She couldn’t move.

She was vaguely aware of Crank yelling for her to come on. He raced after the Vuvalini. 

Fear, and worse, hope, coursed through her veins.

She felt Toast grab her hand. She looked at her sister’s face, her mouth was moving. She felt her arm tug as she was pulled forward.

Reality came crashing back around her. She willed her legs to run faster than they ever had before. 

Nux was not alive. It was foolish to think he would be among the survivors. His last moments played in her head in slow motion. With every pound of her feet hitting the floor, he got closer to the end. 

_Witness me._

She hadn’t realized she was crying, but warm, wet tears covered her cheeks.

Their path through the Citadel was a blur. They quickly found themselves outside the Organic Mechanic’s old shop. When the Vuvalini had decided their medicinal practices had kept them alive and healthy long enough to justify taking over, they had pronounced the shop ‘horrific’ and had moved the medical facility to a more suitable location.

Capable had slowed to a walk. She wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to enter. Toast nudged her. She took her sister’s hand and went inside.

Clayless War Boys were collapsed on every surface of the room, every shade of flesh burned pink by days in the sun. She looked at their exhausted faces, lips dried and cracked. Boys pale as The Dag, Boys warm tones of brown, Boys so dark their skin blended and melted flawlessly into their cargoes. She marveled at the vast differences in each boy. They had carved intricate and frightening scars into their skin, all in an attempt to set themselves apart from the sea of look a likes surrounding them. Joe and his clay had stripped them of any identity they might have had. All they had to do was wash themselves clean.

Their paint had been replaced with sand and blood, burns seared across skin. Those conscious seemed to all writhe in pain, various wounds hastily bandaged in dirty pieces of fabric, already soaked through and congealed in blood. 

How had any of them survived this long?

Furiosa and the Vuvalini were shouting in the corner.

“This is my shop, my boys and you bitches best shove off,” bellowed the Organic Mechanic.

Capable had always disliked the OM, something about him made her skin crawl. She was more frightened at dying by his hand than natural causes. It was clear he knew the science, but his morbid curiosity and lack of empathy had been a deadly combination for some of the Wretched.

The Organic Mechanic lifted a bucket to his mouth, water spilling from the sides as he drank greedily. When he had his fill, he passed it off to one of the few War Boys that wasn’t on death’s door and began to make rounds.

“Ya have no jurisdiction here, man.” Attrition, the younger Vuvalini, spat the last word as if it were poison in her mouth.

“Oi, Furiosa! I don’t know how you got outta execution per our fearless leader, but if you don’t call off your leathery comrades, I’ll be forced to lobotomize ‘em!”

“Joe is dead.” Furiosa, statuesque, stood with all the presence of a Goliath.

The OM, didn’t miss a beat. Maybe he had known somehow. Maybe he didn’t care. He continued to fuss over the bandages wrapped around a War Boys head.

“As it were, there still ain’t no room for women folk in the Body Shop.”

“The Vuvalini have cared for themselves since the downfall. Ya may notice a severe lack of the sickness that seems to plague this place. Gonna make these boys green with those rags,” Mother Scorpion said as she used her whole body to bump the OM out of the way.

The OM looked ready to fight the old woman, but before he could retaliate, a roar of a yell ripped from the mouth of a War Boy near by. The Organic Mechanic laughed.

“Know what? That one’s yours. Watch it, he bites.”

Capable and Toast were closest to him. He had fresh burn marks across his stomach, but Capable could see several old wounds underneath, including some pieced back together with bits of metal. He was bleeding severely out of a deep gash in his shoulder. Further down, both of the bones in his forearm were broken, causing the limb to form a sickening ‘s’ shape.

The War Boy continued to cry out, the corners of his carved smile threatening to split open. He thrashed violently. Capable worried he would hurt himself even more. She attempted to pin him to the slab of stone he had been stretched across. She was knocked back, stumbling. Furrowing her brow she grabbed his broken arm and taking little care of the break, pushed it hard against the table.

“Toast!” She nodded to the War Boy's other arm and her sister mirrored her actions.

“Boy’s gotta broken arm, broken leg, multiple burns and open wounds,” Attrition announced as she quickly circled around the boy, Furiosa and Mother Scorpion joining the young women in their struggle to keep the War Boy still.

“We’re trying to help you! You’re very hurt,” Capable shouted, hoping he could hear her over his own shouting.

He continued to writhe, curses mixing with unintelligible yelling and grunts. The women were struggling, the War Boy’s adrenaline making him a force to be reckoned with. His good arm slipped free of Toast’s restraint and his hand fit tightly around Capable’s throat. 

Before Furiosa, the Vuvalini or Toast could react, the Organic Mechanic hit the boy over the head with a large metal object. All of the fight left his body, his eyes rolling back, limbs limp, jaw slack. He fell back, knocked out.

“Now, I think it’s safe to say I know what I’m doin’.” The OM bounced his makeshift weapon against his hand.

Furiosa and the Vuvalini argued with him for quite some time before compromising, stating that should the OM step outta line, he’d be shot on the spot. They knew that outright killing the OM after saving so many of their brothers would turn many in the Citadel against them. Capable didn’t know how long she and Toast helped set bones and cleaned open wounds. Long enough to feel an ache in her neck from hunching over broken War Boys.

Attrition and Mother Scorpion were bent over a nearly lifeless War Boy, his skin an ugly pallid gray despite his missing war paint. If not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Capable would have thought he was dead. She touched his arm and he felt cool.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Had a nasty head wound. Lost a lotta blood.”

“Dreg!”

The three women turned to see a small group of War Boys rush into the room, followed by Crank. Capable hadn’t even noticed him leaving. A tall, broad shouldered young man rushed to the side of the War Boy they were inspecting. A half circle was carved into his chest.

The War Boy she had fought her first day in the Pits now stood across the body of a dying boy. Capable’s heart was in her throat.

“Is he dead?” 

Did War Boys mourn their dead?

“Close to,” Attrition nodded to the body.

“But he din’t die historic! What if he ain’t in Valhalla when I get there?!” 

“Boy, there ain’t no Valhalla.”

He looked Mother Scorpion in the eye, murder written in his face.

“You said he lost a lot of blood,” Capable asked, eyes trained on the two half-life boys in front of her. “Hook me up.”

The Vuvalini stuck her arm, just like Max had been stuck. A ribbon of blood connected Capable to the War Boy. Toast brought her a barrel to sit on, letting her know how ridiculous she thought Capable was for giving her blood to a boy she did not know. The Vuvalini moved on to another boy in need of healing. Several of the War Boys hobbled out with the group that had come with Crank, leaving only the severely hurt boys behind.

The tall boy sat across from her. His eyes bounced from where the hook entered Capable’s skin to the face of the comatose War Boy.

“Valhalla does not await us.” She said it quiet and gentle. It wasn’t an attack, it was a plea.

The boy shot Capable with an intense glare.

“When we die, we return to the earth. We become the flowers.”

“Ain’t no flower things for half-lifes,” he mumbled, the ferocity dwindling with every word.

“Joe was a sick old man that force fed everyone his delusions of grandeur.” She said it as kindly as she could. Maybe it was cruel to tell him that his brother wouldn’t be waiting for him regardless of how he died. “He made you battle fodder. He’s the reason this War Boy is lying on death’s door.”

“No! Ya run off with Furiosa! It was you!” He was standing, shouting at top volume.

“Your scars, where do they come from,” Capable shouted back, failing to stay calm. “You put them there? Are you proud of them? My wrists are littered with marks the rope and shackles left behind because I didn’t understand why I shouldn’t fight the man so much older than me when he came to take what he thought was his! My sister marked her face like you mark your body! Thought it would make her less desirable. One cut for every time. The man you saw as savior was depraved. We were all things in his eyes. He made every one of us long for death... How can you call that a god?”

She leaned her head onto the side of the rock bed. The blood passing from her body seemed to take the fight with it. It was quiet in their corner. She wondered if the War Boy had left. She lifted her head to see him slump down into his seat in front of her once more. They sat in silence for several long minutes.

A rasping cough shook Capable from her drifting thoughts.

“Dreg!”

The War Boy on the slab took several wheezing breaths, his eyes shut tight against the lamp the Vuvalini had set next to him. He groaned, soft, barely audible.

“Shut it, Cretan. Heads all shook,” he whispered, opening his eyes just enough to see through the light lashes there, the corners of his mouth lifted minutely as he flexed his fingers towards the other boy.

Cretan took the one he called Dreg’s hand and leaning over, gently pressed their foreheads together. Capable no longer saw the menacing threat she had first met down in the pits. Cretan looked sad, relieved and hopeful, childlike in a way. Color was returning to Dreg’s face, his skin so pink next to the stark black and white of Cretan’s paint.

“Valhalla decide ya was too full a schlanger, kick ya right out?” He laughed, a breathy quiet chuckle.

“Boy needs rest now,” Ma Scorpion said as she brought a small cup of water over to Dreg. “And Capable, we can unhook you now that you’ve saved this boy.” She winked at Capable.

Reluctantly, Cretan released his hold on his brother’s hand and stood up, moving around the side of the slab. Ma Scorpion removed the hook from her arm. Capable slowly stood up, pressing a piece of fabric into the pinprick. She stepped back from the slab, swaying, her arm bumping Cretan’s as he moved past her to leave.

The War Boy, so much taller than she was, steadied her, and then quickly before anyone could see, placed his hand behind her neck and pressed his forehead to hers. Shocked, she was unable to respond in any way before Cretan jogged out of the Body Shop.

“Dreg’s his lancer,” Crank commented from where he sat, practically on top of the War Boy they had subdued earlier. “They took a whole buncha extra lancers and polecats. Lotsa drivers left behind. Gonna have ta get new lancers.” He looked down at the passed out War Boy, sadness in his eyes. “‘Cept this one. Gonna need a new driver.”

Capable dragged her barrel over to the make shift table similar to what Aveeya had given birth on earlier that day. Crank looked around the room at the boys still needing care. He pointed to one that had lost an eye and was burned badly on one arm.

“That’s Knash. Belongs ta Screech. Blown up more buzzards than almost anybody. And that ugly smeg over there is Render. Usedta be one of Doof’s drummers but he lost his hearing, so now he just kinda does whatever. Couple polecats over there, Wasp and Shiv.”

He patted an uninjured part of the knocked out lancer’s chest.

“Gonna be these boys wanna fight you and Furiosa and the other Keepers.”

They were battle torn and had lost those closest to them. The tousle with Cretan had been nothing compared to what these War Boys were likely to do. They had seen the path to their Valhalla and had seen it ripped away from them at the hands of their god’s property. Capable was suddenly very aware of how close she was to the vicious animalistic warriors that had been out for her blood not so many days ago.

These were Joe’s fiercest fighters, one’s that had managed to survive the chase and even the many days making their way back through the dunes. If they chose not to work with Furiosa and the others, there would be blood spilled on both sides, she was sure. How many War Boys and pups would jump at the chance of uprising? Dizir and Vex were friendly with her, and Crank had not gone a day without seeing her since they first met, but she had only known them a short while. These were their brothers. How easily could they be swayed to pick up where they had left off?

“You okay?” Crank hunched over, putting himself in Capable’s line of sight. She tried to relax. 

“Come on, ya gotta be like Slit here,” Crank hooked his fingers inside his mouth and pulled up and out. “Smile!” 

Capable couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous parody of a smile he was creating. Crank put his face up against the unconscious War Boy’s face, squishing their “smiles” together.

“Nnmmfuck,” grumbled Slit.

Slit.

Slit, the War Boy that scuffled with the Tumor Man. Slit, the fearless young man that threw himself into Buzzard nests.

Slit, Nux’ lancer.

“Ngfuckin’ get offa me, ya fangin’...” Slit petered out at the end. Capable wondered if he had passed back out.

He halfheartedly tried to sit up, but Crank was still mostly on top of him. He reached up to push the pup off of him only to shout out as the pain of his broken limbs came crashing in.

“Pretty thrashed there, huh, old man,” Crank teased as he climbed back onto the floor.

Slit mumbled something unintelligible. 

Capable didn’t know what to do. She was stuck where she was. She felt like the lizards the Helpers, those tasked with the general care of the wives, would sometimes catch in the hallways just outside of the vault. She was trapped and panicked and unable to move.

Nux had mentioned his lancer once, and not by name. He spoke with the same brokenness he did when talking about his former Immortan. Capable hadn’t pushed it. She didn’t understand the driver-lancer dynamic at the time, she barely understood it now. Crank had tried to explain it to her but struggled to put it into words. She had watched the bonded pairs of War Boys interact. They reminded her of her sisters, but with an intensity and trust she had never seen between two people before.

Crank had told her several stories of the misadventures of Nux and Slit, embellished either by the pup or the original story tellers, she wasn’t sure. Slit’s name found its way across many of the pages of her book. Capable didn’t know what to expect. The volatile warrior, the older brother figure.

One of the most important people in Nux’ short half-life.

“NnCrank, I’mma send ya straight to the afterlife if ya don’t get outta my face.”

Slit tried once again to sit up. Capable put a gentle hand on his shoulder, a suggestion to stay down. Slit all but snapped at her like a feral beast.

“The Vuvalini said you’re extremely hurt, I suggest you stay where you are.” Though unsure of how to treat him, Capable mustered up what authority she could.

“I helped Capable wrap you up,” Crank chimed excitedly.

Whether it was due to the Organic Mechanic’s inflicted head trauma or Crank’s words, Capable was grateful for the brief distraction. 

“Capable.” Recognition edged into Slit’s drastic features. “The Immortan’s wife.”

He turned his face to Capable’s, confusion fighting with rage. The fire in his eyes made her reflexively step back. Crank threw himself across Slit’s lap. Furiosa and Toast snapped to attention, but Capable raised her hand. She could handle this broken War Boy.

“I am no longer a wife.”

“She’s the Keeper of the Stories, Slit!”

The War Boy struggled as best he could in his condition. Crank would never have been enough to keep Slit down in any other circumstance. Curses and threats dripped from his split lips.

“Joe is dead. The Citadel is free from his tyranny. You will never be his battle fodder again and we are no longer wives. We are not things, Slit, and we never have to be treated as such again.”

Slit fought even harder. He was mostly off the bed now, feet on the floor and struggling to find his balance. Murder was etched into every hard line of his body.

“Slit, ya can’t kill her, she hasn’t told me Nux story yet!”

Slit froze.

He didn’t look any less ready to throttle the life out of her. Crank was still pleading behind him, arms wrapped around Slit’s waist. His sharp, uneven breathing was the only movement he made.

“Capable knows Nux’ best story,” Crank whispered.

“She don’t know a fuckin’ thing,” Slit bellowed, taking a menacing step towards Capable. She stepped closer, she would not back down from a man ever again.

An audible snap reverberated from his bandaged leg. His eyes widened. Slit crumpled to the ground, ferocious bellows being ripped from his mouth.

“Joe Almighty, Slit, get yer arse on the cot or I swear I’ll knock ya again and let the she devils do with ya as they please,” the OM called from the other side of the room.

The Vuvalini reluctantly picked him off the floor. They had their grudges against men, but since their arrival at the Citadel, they had done their share for the War Boys and pups. Capable wondered if their time on Fury Road had reminded them that men could be reliable. This still didn’t stop them from chastising Slit for being so thick and a nuisance. 

The blood she had given to Dreg was catching up with her. She felt lightheaded and sick. Crank took her by the wrist and pulled her from the Body Shop, Toast hot on their heels.

“We need to remove the War Boys that oppose us,” Toast said. It wasn't a question or a suggestion. Intent laced her words.

Crank looked how Capable felt. This was their home, all of them. Though their hard lives under Joe’s rule were no excuse, Capable couldn’t help but pity them. In many respects the War Boys had been dealt a harder existence than the wives had, but without the education and guidance of Miss Giddy. It was no wonder that they defaulted to brutality.

“We rehabilitate the ones we can...”

Capable looked into Crank’s eyes brimming with unease.

“The ones we can’t, I will personally deal with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first decided to write this fic, I knew it was all headed for this. I originally planned for everything that has happened so far to be about two chapters and then get to this chapter, but it had other plans for me. I have been waiting for and been so super excited to get to Slit, but once I did, I panicked haha. He's one of my favorite characters(as well as pretty much everybody else in the fandom) and he has such a presence, that I really want to do him justice. So, when in doubt... knock the character the fuck out hahaha. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this is still a good read, I've been doubting it a bit lately. Thank you everyone that is still reading it and especially those that leave such nice comments and kudos. :3

**Author's Note:**

> God I hope this is decent.


End file.
